


Suddenly, diamonds

by Unpronounceable



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, Everyone is Dead, I COULD NOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME THINK OF A TITLE, Incredibly vague mentions of past abuse, M/M, quiet nod to batterydouche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:45:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpronounceable/pseuds/Unpronounceable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you doing here, Dualscar?"<br/>Your voice is tired and more crackly than you remembered, and maybe it's just because you're paying more attention to it right now or because it's so silent, but it does not waver and you're grateful for that.</p><p>"I hardly know m'self, actually. Just happened to appear here a little while ago. Interesting how those bubbles work, isn't it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suddenly, diamonds

The shudder you feel when his bubble bumps into yours should be indicate enough that not-today-because-there-is-no-time-here of being dead is going to be absolutely terrible.

You feel it, like cold fingers dancing down your scarred and mangled back, making the hairs on the nape of it rise up in agitation, and you draw a breath in preparation.  
It's okay, you think. Someone has bumped into your bubble before. You can handle this, Summoner has taught you how to keep your calm when facing others, and whoever they are they probably won't stay for very long.  
Just some run of the mill troll who in some inconceivable way has a connection to you and the rest of the bubble inhabitants.  
So you continue your work with the ball.  
Throw it from one hand to another, again and again, meticulously, trying not to forget how fingers work, or how your hands look, don't think about the wires and the stars and don't zone out so hard that you forget you're dead.

The voice makes your ghost stomach drop to the ground, through it, and down to the other side.  
Your ball falls to the ground as well when your hands freeze up, your eyes widen, and your breath leaves you. 

Of course it had to be him. Of course.

"Well well, what are the odds of seeing you here? Fate, perhaps?"

For a moment you are back, the waves rocking you, looking out at the endless gray and deep blue, the horizon shining like a beacon that you cannot reach but only stare at until it blurs together with the sea and it's just grey everywhere, until a hand decorated with metal takes your shoulder, tight, and murmurs in your ear, 'don't look to hard now, boy, or you'll fall in.'  
And then you're back to being dead, thank god, but he's still there, looking more worn and less looming than he ever did back in the day, his garish cape not quite as threatening and more ill-fitting against the drab colours of this desert you've chosen as your resting place.  
Suddenly, you're not that scared anymore.

"What are you doing here, Dualscar?"  
Your voice is tired and more crackly than you remembered, and maybe it's just because you're paying more attention to it right now or because it's so silent, but it does not waver and you're grateful for that.

"I hardly know m'self, actually. Just happened to appear here a little while ago. Interesting how those bubbles work, isn't it?"

All of the anger and rebelliousness you've been stewing in for so long catches fire, going from dull ember to bright torch in a manner of seconds and you're on your feet, ball forgotten, and you stare him in the eyes, something you never did before.  
You can tell he's taken aback from the slight raise of his brow, the gleam in his eyes that portrays both interest and a warning, 'don't look too hard now, boy'.  
Or maybe you're reading too much into the milky white and you're just overly paranoid.

"Leave. There's nothing for you here and I want you out."  
"Nothing for me here? I'd quite disagree, Psiioniic, you are here after all."  
"And I want nothing to do with you."

Dualscar gives you the look, the one that needs no eyes to give a message; it's the look that makes sweat dampen your forehead and your breathing turn irregular, one that says you won't be sleeping tonight.  
But this is not his ship, and he no longer makes the rules.

"Are you standing up to me now, wriggler? Bit late for that, don't you think?"  
"I'm not a wriggler."

The chuckle sends stone into your breathing organs, but you stand your ground.  
"Don't try to defy me, lowblood, it's not in your nature. It's much more befitting for you to be submissive. Isn't that what I taught you in my service? Submit to me?"

The brand on your hip burns and so does your face, not from embarrassment but from seething, boiling anger.  
The psionics you have left crackle, black white and gold snaps from your skin, but before you can open your mouth or even hiss, there is a sound that comes closer by the second, and the sound lands and just as you're about to turn around, there is a flurry of black and brown and a fist all but crashes into Dualscar's face, sending him sprawling backwards while the fist and its body stand there, panting.  
Most of what you can see is the half-transparent wings and the horns stretching beyond them, but the wings fold in on themselves and you're left with the image of the Summoner, in all his glory, pointing a finger at Dualscar's figure.

"You," he proclaims loudly, staring down at the shellshocked Dualscar who likely did not expect a winged troll to swoop down and knock him to the ground, "do not," he continues, authority dripping from his words, "talk like that to him." He points to you without looking, and you're just as shellshocked as Dualscar, all the venom and hatred washed away like it's high tide.  
Your silence catches the Summoner's attention and he turns to you, eyebrows raised high like there's no reason for your mouth to be agape. 

"You okay there, buddy?"  
Dualscar, your tormentor of the past and source of nightmares for sweeps, gets up and dusts imaginary dreamsand off his cape.  
The Summoner is still looking at you all innocent-like, and you're just standing there, not saying anything.  
The hilarity of everything hits you all at once, and some resemblance of a laugh escapes you, a pathetic squeaky huff more than anything.  
It's more than enough for your fairy friend though, judging by the size of his eyes, and you realize that you haven't laughed in a long, long time.

"Who the fuck are you, you mutant rustblood freak?!" Apparently Dualscar has gathered himself enough to start hollering again, and something long forgotten inside you rears its head at his words, but as usual the Summoner goes his own way and completely turns it around.  
"I'm his moirail, sea rat, and I'd like to see you get the hell out of our bubble."

Your moiraillegiance with him is news to you, though you suspect you've both been blatantly flirting without noticing it, now that you think about it, and he's helped you so much, keeping your mind more stable and reassuring you again and again that you're here and not back there, and made the afterlife you hated for being a life enjoyable.  
You guess, if you have to label it, you wouldn't mind calling him your diamond that much.  
He _did_ just punch Orphaner Dualscar in the face for you, though you suspect his own grudge against highbloods played into it.

Dualscar is glaring fire at the both of you, but neither of you really care.  
You find yourself wondering how he died, if someone killed him or if he got himself killed, and how long it's been.  
You almost, almost feel concern, but you squash it because you know he deserves nothing from you.

"I have other people to find in this world, pup, but I'll come see you when you're more available," the scarred seadweller states calm as ice, and you know he won't leave you alone, he never has.  
Summoner bristles but you lay a hand on his arm, wordlessly urging him to calm down.  
You don't want a spar or a feud, you just want to continue with your afterlife.  
Dualscar turns, walking without looking back, and you shudder again as he's suddenly not there, leaving only marks in the sand, and you feel the bubble drifting away again. Summoner's wings shiver, it's somewhat entertaining to watch.

You breathe deeply, glad that whole ordeal is over, and allow your shoulders to stop tensing.  
Summoner isn't very subtle when he glances at you, no doubt preparing to fire horribly invasive questions at you, as is his way.

"So. You're my moirail now? That's the first I hear of it."

The winged troll takes a sudden interest in the sky and his cheeks go brown with blood that's not really there- or maybe it is, after all, and maybe this strange existence has more merit than you originally thought.

You bend down, pick up the ball and start tossing it from hand to hand again, leaving your apparent palemate in his confusion.

You're pretty sure he sees your smile, though, and he's most likely going to be seeing more of it in the future.


End file.
